


Die Liebe Lange Nacht

by ishougen



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempts at teaching Oswald how to seduce people, F/M, Fish gets off on torturing Oswald (or thinking about it anyway), Kink Meme, M/M, headcanon: Oswald is from Germany, other headcanon: Oswald can sing like a pretty lil bird, procrastination station, that just turn into Fish seducing him, tricksy Oswald, virginal Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishougen/pseuds/ishougen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His touch lingered for a moment before it slid inwards, along the seam of her stockings, light enough to tease but firm enough to speak of a dark, wanton hunger. He glanced up at her with those pale eyes of his before leaning forward, his lips tracing the line his fingers had left, and Fish didn’t bother to suppress a warm sigh as his breath ghosted along her barely-covered skin.</p><p>---</p><p>Written for the Gotham kinkmeme on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Basically Oswald switches roles with Liza. I want Fish teaching awkward little Oswald the fine art of seduction." I meant to stick in more humour but, as always, I ended up going for the darker side of things. Also, I wrote this instead of writing an essay, and now I really need to write that essay, so this hasn't been edited very thoroughly. Sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die Liebe Lange Nacht

When one courts a woman,  
There are three things he needs  
An open heart, a little sack of gold  
And a lot of courage, too

* * *

 

 “No, no, stop, for Christ’s sake,  _stop_.”

Fish was having a difficult time resisting the urge to throw something at Oswald – preferably, something sharp and/or pointy. Bringing her fingertips up to rest against her cheek, she sighed in annoyance, her gaze filled with the keenest sense of disappointment she could muster.

Oswald stared up at her from where he had knelt at her feet, his arctic-blue eyes wide and more than a little afraid. He was quite cute like this, really, but she was too annoyed at him to feel any remorse.

“Try it again,” she ordered, the words quick and sharp, cracking through the air like a whip. “And this time, don’t do that thing with your mouth. It’s unseemly.”

The flash of anger that passed over Oswald’s face didn’t go unnoticed, but she said nothing for the time being. There were more important things to deal with – things like tearing apart that geezer Falcone. Admittedly, she had been a little surprised to discover that his taste in personal company swung more towards those of the male persuasion, but she had been pleased to learn that he preferred his boys young and pretty, with dirty mouths and dirtier minds. No doubt there was some sort of domination thing going on there – the old ones were always the kinkiest.

Finding a boy for him had been easy enough, but the problems began as soon as she designated Oswald as her weapon of choice. The boy was a smooth talker, but he was gawky, awkward, all limbs and no grace, so it fell to Fish to teach him the art of seduction, one stumbling step at a time.

Below her, Oswald was reaching out, his long, thin fingers pale in the low light of the club. He brushed his fingertips against her knee carefully, his posture conveying total and utter submission. He was well-practiced in that, at least. His touch lingered for a moment before it slid inwards, along the seam of her stockings, light enough to tease but firm enough to speak of a dark, wanton hunger. He glanced up at her with those pale eyes of his before leaning forward, his lips tracing the line his fingers had left, and Fish didn’t bother to suppress a warm sigh as his breath ghosted along her barely-covered skin.

But then he went and did that  _thing_  with his mouth, that thing where he parted his lips and let his tongue dart out, all grace lost as the pink appendage wriggled in the cold air. Letting out a sound of utter disgust, Fish stood suddenly, sending Oswald sprawling backwards against the carpeted floor. He yelped weakly and stared up at her, a flush darkening his porcelain skin. Cute, she thought, but goddamned useless.

“Ms. Mooney,” he pleaded, scrambling to placate himself in front of her, “Please, let me try once more, I promise I’ll do better – ”

Fish just shook her head, her lips curling downwards. To be fair, she hadn’t hired Oswald for his talent in the bedroom; but was it really so difficult to achieve even a minimum level of sultryness? “No,” she said, her tone commanding, not giving him even half of an inch. He needed to be perfect, or the plan would be a failure. “Get up,” she said, crooking a finger at him, a wicked light entering her eyes. Looks like she’d just have to teach him the hard way.

Oswald did as he was told, his bony limbs flailing somewhat as he stood hurriedly, his shoulders drawn inward ever so slightly. He was taller than her, but the way he stood made him seem so small, so fragile – she’d fantasized more than once about breaking his bones, about the delicious cracking sounds that would fill the air as she snapped him into pieces.

But that was for another day. For now, she had to ensure he could do his duty as Falcone’s newest boy-toy.

Glancing across the room, she nodded to Gilzean, who returned the nod and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. That left the two of them alone – she’d really been hoping to humiliate Oswald at least a little, but she was certain he’d get performance anxiety, so alone it was. Small steps, she thought to herself.

 “Oswald,” she said sharply, making him jump a little, “Tell me something.”

 “A-Anything, Ms. Mooney – ”

 “Are you a virgin?”

 The question was clear and concise, and Fish saw the answer on Oswald’s face in an instant. His lips parted and his eyes went even wider than usual; the flush in his cheeks darkened to a red the colour of blood, and a choked sound left his throat. A virgin. She should’ve guessed – she gave her little penguin too much credit.

 “Can’t say I’m surprised,” she murmured, earning an indignant huff from Oswald. Her disappointed frown curved upwards as a thought came to her mind, and she said simply, “Take off your clothes.”

 The colour in Oswald’s face drained immediately, which was a shame, since it so rarely appeared there. “Ms. Mooney,” he said slowly, his eyebrows furrowing together, his lips twisting into an uncomfortable grimace, “Is that really neces–”

 “Off,” she ordered, her voice louder now. She pointed a sharp nail at Oswald’s chest and narrowed her eyes, glaring at him as though she could kill him with her gaze alone. “Falcone is going to see you sooner or later, and he better not see you as a shrinking violet.” She leaned back, waiting, and reminded herself that Oswald deserved this. The trouble with Falcone had been his fault, after all.

 Oswald hesitated for a moment longer, but Fish’s stare was overpowering. Glancing away, he reached up to undo the buttons on his jacket, slipping it from his arms and folding it neatly over the back of a nearby armchair. He repeated the movements with his vest, the silk a comfort against his trembling fingers; but when he was down to his dress shirt, he hesitated again. His discomfort was tangible.

 Fish was unimpressed. Cocking an eyebrow at him, she drawled, “Oh, honey, don’t tell me no one’s ever seen you naked.” A virgin and a prude. Excellent. Just what she needed.

 A shadow of his earlier blush returned to Oswald’s cheeks, and when he spoke his voice was quiet but angry. “Not my fault,” he mumbled, reaching down to undo his cufflinks, his body held at a stiff, awkward angle. “Better things to do. Mother wouldn’t approve.”

 Fish’s eyes narrowed once more, her nose wrinkling unpleasantly. The mother. She hadn’t heard much about the woman, but every time Oswald mentioned her Fish got the sense that she had messed with his brain irreparably. No doubt she was the reason he’d never been fucked – in a city like Gotham, even the ugliest sonsofbitches could find someone who didn’t mind them so much in the dark.

 “Forget about that,” she said, waving her hand through the air as though to dispel whatever sorcery Oswald’s mother had cast upon him. She found herself smiling and added, “Falcone might like that about you.”

 Oswald swallowed visibly, but he kept his attention on his clothing. His cuffs undone, he began to unbutton his shirt; Fish could see that his chest was suffused with red, an extension of the flush on his cheeks. She hummed softly to herself as she took him in, noting the way his chest was ever so slightly concave, thinking again of how brittle his little bones must be. A bird could be so easily broken.

 Unbuttoning had been one thing, but actually getting the shirt off was another matter entirely. Oswald wanted to turn away, to hide himself, but Fish was right there, watching him so expectantly, that he knew doing so would only earn him a beating. So, taking a deep, shuddering breath, he slid the crisp fabric off of his skin and added it to the growing pile on the armchair. Then he stood there, shivering slightly, his top half entirely exposed for Fish’s viewing pleasure.

 Fish, for her part, was thinking rapidly about how to turn this to her advantage. It was clear that Oswald would never stop being awkward and nervous, but perhaps that was what Falcone needed – someone to discipline, someone to educate. Still, giving him Oswald as-is seemed a bad idea. He needed some molding first. So she stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and reached out to drag her fingernails along the side of Oswald’s waist.

 His response would have been comical, were Fish not so aggravated by his obvious inexperience. He gasped loudly, his pupils dilating, and at his sides his fingers clenched themselves into tight little fists – no doubt in an effort to control himself. Fish, despite herself, let out a cruel laugh, causing Oswald to flinch and shy away.

 “Not so fast,” she murmured, her fingers clutching at the boy’s hip and keeping him close. Her lips were pulled into a tight smirk, her eyes glittering with dark promise. She could almost smell the fear emanating from the boy. “You’ve never so much as been touched by anyone, have you?”

 Oswald shook his head meekly, his eyes downcast, his face burning with shame. Fish loved it. She pressed her nails into the boy’s hip, hard enough to earn a sharp, pained cry, and when she finally let go there were deep crescent marks patterning Oswald’s too-palce skin. Stepping back, she lowered herself into a chair and looked up at him expectantly.

 “Well?” she asked, settling herself and crossing her legs. “I told you to undress.”

 He seemed too stunned to do anything, but after a moment he obeyed. Kneeling, he untied his shoelaces and carefully slipped the leather from his feet, then tugged his socks off and deposited them gently, almost lovingly, into each shoe. Setting them aside, he straightened, his toes curling against the carpet as though they’d never been free before. His eyes darted up to meet Fish’s before he began to undo his belt buckle, his hands still trembling visibly.

 This was probably the first time anyone had seen him naked other than that mother of his – and Fish found herself rather excited by the prospect. She didn’t think Oswald attractive in the least, but she appreciated rarities, and being an untouched virgin in a city like Gotham was one of the rarest things she’d ever seen. Not to mention that Oswald worked for the mob, for christ’s sake. How had he not been taken by one of her boys already? Perhaps they were too off-put by that creepy grin of his. Well, all the better for her, she supposed. After this was over, after Falcone was out of the picture, she might even let the boys have a go with him. She wondered how he’d handle multiple partners if this fumbling attempt at seduction was the best he could do with just one.

 While Fish was busy planning out his future sexual escapades, Oswald was focused on undoing his trousers and slipping them off. He felt altogether far too exposed, but this was Fish, and if he didn’t do as instructed he knew she would only make things worse. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to discard his underwear – boxerbriefs, the only choice for the discerning gentleman, really – and so he stood there, fidgeting, until Fish made a disgruntled sound. Figuring it was best to just get it over with, Oswald hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged them off, not bothering to put them away neatly and instead just tossing them aside before covering himself with his hands. He couldn’t meet Fish’s gaze, but he could feel her sharklike grin on him nonetheless.

 “Good boy,” she purred, her voice warm and smooth as silk. “But don’t be shy, now. Let me see all of you.”

 Oswald had to take a deep breath and close his eyes before forcing his hands to his sides, his mind screaming at him that this was wrong, that this was bad, that mother was going to be so, so angry at him. But Fish was his mother too, really; she had raised him up from nothing, saved him from the streets, given him a home. He had to listen to her.

 While Oswald had his eyes closed Fish got to her feet, the sound of her heels muffled against the carpet. She circled around him slowly, humming in the back of her throat, taking in every little detail of the untouched body before her. He was thin, thinner than she’d thought – the suit added much to his frame. He was so pale that the light reflected right off of him, making him seem cold as ice. His nipples were small and dark, and his nether regions were well-groomed, almost prim in the way they were presented. He was small, but not terribly; he was half-hard already, as well, which she found quite amusing.

 “You look so scared, Oswald,” she drawled, trailing her fingers up along his arm and over his collarbone. He shivered, his eyelids fluttering open, and she noticed for the first time that there was a warmth hidden in the ice of his eyes. It was small and distant, but still there, like a tiny flame across a vast expanse of snow.

 “I’m j-just nervous,” he replied, his voice pitched a little higher than usual, his entire body tensing at her touch.

 “What’s there to be nervous about?” She didn’t give him time to answer; instead, she allowed her nails to carve their way down his front, stopping just above the small patch of dark, close-cut hair nestled below his abdomen. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you feel very, very good.”

 The promise was not a reassuring one.

 Her fingers trailed back up, this time reaching his cheek and stroking it almost affectionately. Then, stepping back once again, she ordered, “Kneel, Oswald.”

 Oswald knelt. His eyes were now trained on her face, as though looking to her for salvation.

 Standing above him like this, Fish had to resist the urge to beat him. He really was a pretty little thing, his skin looking paler than ever against the wine-red of the carpet, his face so haughty and so fragile all at once. She would barely have to touch him for bruises to blossom across his flesh, turning him into something more, something beautiful and broken and tragic. But not today.

 “Touch yourself.”

 He balked at the command, confusion and disbelief returning to his features. “T-touch? Ms. Mooney, I don’t – ”

 “I said,” she repeated, leaning down so she could hiss the words to him, her tone nothing if not vicious, “touch yourself. I want to see you come, Cobblepot.”

 This was clearly something he did not want to do. He fidgeted more than ever, his expression almost a grimace, his hands clenching and unclenching on top of his thighs. But Fish just continued to stare at him expectantly, and after a few moments Oswald closed his eyes and wrapped his long, thin fingers around himself.

 The sound that left him would have been upsetting if Fish were more sensitive: it sounded like the cry a baby bird would make, newly-hatched and desperate for protection, for warmth. Oswald seemed almost in pain as he pumped himself slowly, his entire body shaking from the shame that rushed through his bloodstream.

 “This is bad,” he whispered, more to himself than to Fish; he seemed to have tuned her out entirely. “This is dirty, I shouldn’t be doing this – ”

 Fish sighed impatiently, resisting the urge to smack him. So it was as she’d suspected – no doubt that mother of his had forbidden all types of sexual activities. Well, that just wasn’t going to do. Fish needed Oswald to do this job properly. So, reaching down, she gripped his chin and forced him to look up at her.

 “Oswald, darling,” she murmured, all cruelty gone for the moment, “don’t worry about that. Just let yourself feel good.”

 He blinked up at her owlishly, and she felt sick when she realized there were traces of tears in his eyes. Tears! No wonder none of the boys would touch him. Tutting, she let him go and circled around behind him. Then, her voice dropping an octave, she said, “Get on your hands and knees.”

 He made a frightened sound, but did as he was told; apparently following orders helped to ease his nerves. He even pressed his face down against his arms and raised his ass into the air, the way a dog would – she wondered if that came naturally to him or if he’d learned it from a porno mag. Either way, it made her smile.

 She let her nails trace their way up along the back of his thigh, earning a pleasant shudder and a soft, needy-sounding whimper. “Let yourself relax,” she said, trying to sooth him. “Let Mama Fish take care of you.”

 In the back of her mind, Fish wondered when this had turned from teaching Oswald to seduce Falcone to her seducing Oswald. It was all for educational purposes, she reasoned; giving the boy some experience before sending him off to be fucked wouldn’t hurt.

 Her fingers travelled up over the curve of his ass, the touch light and exploratory. She could feel the goosebumps springing up beneath her palm and it made her smile widen. “Keep touching yourself,” she directed, looking over at Oswald’s face and delighting in the way his blush had spread itself out across his shoulders.

 He did as commanded,, without complaint this time, and it seemed that her touches had helped because he stroked himself more eagerly now, little sighs falling from his lips and getting lost in the carpet.

 “Just like that, honey,” she encouraged, giving him a light pat on the ass before standing and crossing the room. She hadn’t planned to use anything on him – not today, anyway – but there was something about the little penguin that made her impatient. She felt as though he would come out ahead of her somehow unless she kept him under her heel constantly. So she would speed things up a little, make sure that he understood his place, make sure he respected her without fail.

 Reaching into the dresser, she extracted a small, innocuous tube. Then, turning, she looked over at him for a long moment before finally returning to his side. He was clearly getting more into it now, but she didn’t plan for it to end just yet.

 “Not so fast,” she ordered, and immediately Oswald’s hand slowed, but he responded with a pathetic mewl. Chuckling to herself, Fish knelt behind him, careful not to crease her dress.  Uncapping the tube, she took her time squeezing some of the liquid out, her eyes on Oswald the entire time. He had turned his head to see what she was doing, but as soon as their gazes met he pressed his face into his forearm. Still, she didn’t miss the way he wriggled his ass slightly, and it made her laugh more loudly. He was always so amusing, this one.

 “You want this more than I expected,” she said softly, earning another desperate sound from him. She didn’t bother to warm the lube before slicking a finger along the cleft of his ass, earning a whimper of discomfort followed immediately by a choked, “M-Ms. Mooney oh god – ”

 Tossing the bottle away, she smacked Oswald’s ass with her free hand and grinned wolfishly at his response. What a little slut, she thought to herself. She’d definitely have to give him to the boys once this was over – he’d probably enjoy it.

 “What is it, Oswald?” she purred, her finger finding its way to the small ring of muscle that he had offered up to her. She massaged it a little, getting a sense of how tight he was. A virgin hole, just for her. Now that was something truly beautiful. She’d have to fuck him properly herself, one of these days.

“I w-want,” Oswald breathed out, his voice trembling even more than his body, “I w-want to – I want you t-to – ”

“You want me to...?” she repeated, her tone innocent, as she pressed her finger forward into Oswald’s tight little ass. Despite herself, she let out a heated sound, amazed by the sensation. He was truly untouched.

The breach left Oswald speechless, his toes curling against the carpet and his hand stuttering to a stop on his cock. She could see his eyes blown wide, the ice now covered almost completely by pools of black, the arousal he was feeling made tangible.

She laughed again, the sound rough and cruel, and pressed in up to the second knuckle. It had to hurt, but she was loathe to slow down; he was practically pulling her in, his body needing it, needing to be filled and fucked and used. He let out a string of gasps and moans and whimpers, his body shaking beneath her touch, his cock rock-hard where it hung between his legs.

“I told you I want to see you come,” she reminded him, her free hand scratching upwards along his spine. Without a moment’s hesitation Oswald reached for himself, stroking quickly, clearly all too eager to get himself off.

“Fish,” he whimpered, his good sense completely gone. “Please, please, Fish...!”

 She didn’t mind it. It was sort of cute, the way he said her name. He still had the submissive tone that was so important to her. As a reward, she crooked her finger inside of him,feeling the tight channel give way ever so slightly as she pressed against his prostate.

 The touch was clearly too much for Oswald, who jerked back against her finger and cried out sharply, his back arching and his hand going still as he came without warning. Garbled nonsense left his mouth as his hips tensed and relaxed repeatedly, his shoulders drawn up and back, his tiny little body taut as a bowstring.

 Fish couldn’t say she wasn’t disappointed, but it was a start, at least. Her smile vanished behind her usual mask as she slipped her finger out of him, his inner muscles tugging on the digit as though needing it to stay inside forever. When she was free she wiped herself on his asscheek, then on the carpet, before getting to her feet.

 She stared down at him in silence for a long, long moment, taking in the heavy rise and fall of his body as he breathed, the way his hips continued to stutter even after his orgasm had long passed. He was cute, this one. He’d make a better plaything than she’d first anticipated – for Falcone, and for herself.

 “You need more practice,” she said at last, her tone reverting to one of disappointment. “We’ll try again tomorrow night. In the meantime...”

 She crouched in front of him, reaching out to tilt his chin up. His face was flushed and sweaty, his hair in disarray, lips parted and swollen from where he’d bitten down on them in his attempts to keep quiet. Altogether a very good look for him, she thought.

 “I want you to practice your singing. Learn the Italian ones, not that German nonsense you showed me. Falcone won’t appreciate that.”

 Then she left, her hips swinging, her body pulled into a perfect image of power as she opened the door and stepped down the hallway, heels clicking. If Gilzean bothered to peek into the room, Oswald didn’t notice; he was too busy grinning to himself, his face filled with the kind of mirth only maniacs understood.

 

* * *

 

 The next day it rained. Oswald carried his umbrella to Falcone’s house, but it was warm and dry inside. The old man greeted him with a smile that spoke only of pleasant things and showed him inside, leading him to the living room. Falcone took a seat on the large, plush, cream-coloured couch, while Oswald seated himself at the grand piano. Its keys shone beneath his fingers and he smiled at it, glad to finally have a chance at a real instrument again. His mother hadn’t been able to afford lessons after a few months, much less a piano; he’d had to make do with the little stand-up one his smelly old-lady neighbour owned.

 But not anymore.

 “And how is our Fish?” Falcon asked from his seat on the couch, his expression unreadable.

 Oswald smiled politely and replied, “Very well, thank you, sir.”

 “She’s been teaching you all the ways to seduce me, has she?”

 “Yes, sir,” Oswald confirmed, nodding vigorously. “She believes definitively that your only interests of that nature are in young men with... certain things to offer.” His lips quirked up for a moment, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 “Ah, well, that’s Ms. Mooney, I suppose.” Falcone let out a soft laugh and settled himself back against the couch. “Go on, then, Oswald. Play the one from last time.”

 Oswald nodded once; then, turning back to the keys, he began to play. It was a song his mother had taught him as a child, a story about a knight who sacrificed everything but came out a hero. When he sang his voice filled the room, the syllables old and mysterious but no less beautiful for their age. When he sang, it was as though a small bird had fluttered in through the window and sat upon his shoulder – a bird as black as midnight, its eyes as red as blood.

 Soon, he thought to himself. Soon the sun would rise, and he would see himself crowned the king of Gotham.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Oswald sings for Falcone is called "Herr Heinrich". You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltkDizNq2dY & the lyric translation is here: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/herr-heinerich-sir-heinerich.html.


End file.
